An Offer I Couldn't Refuse
by Kerichi
Summary: When Olive Hornby petitions the Ministry to stop Moaning Myrtle from haunting her, Agent Atwell, Spirit Division, makes Myrtle an offer she can't refuse.


The woman entering Olive Hornby's London bedsit had a bold sense of style, I grudgingly acknowledged. She wore a royal blue fedora tilted at just the right angle to set off the smooth, upswept sides of her brown hair. Her red dress suit and high heeled red pumps were the kind of fashions I would have died for back when I was still capable of dying. An envious moan slipped from my lips.

"Good afternoon," the intruder said. She shut the door and walked over to the bay window that was the one charming feature in the pokey space and set her briefcase down to open the curtains. "Natural light is so much more pleasant than artificial, don't you agree?" She transferred the pile of clothing stacked onto the only chair in the room to the unmade bed and sat down. She placed her briefcase on her lap, but didn't open it. Instead, she smiled. Her bright red lipstick matched her suit. Mother would have called her a hussy. "My name is Miss Atwell," she said. "Do I have the pleasure of addressing the ghost formerly known as Myrtle Elizabeth Warren?"

I stopped peering through the wardrobe and burst through the door. "What do you mean, _formerly?"_

The Atwell woman didn't even blink. She said, "If a ghost fails to register his or her preferred afterlife appellation before their first Deathday, the Ministry allows the living person haunted by said ghost to designate a moniker for them. In your case, that is Miss Hornby, and your official afterlife name is now Moaning Myrtle."

" _Nooo!"_ I zoomed around the room in fury. "I won't let Olive get away with it! I'll make her pay!"

"Haven't you already done that?"

Miss Atwell's disapproving tone reminded me of my mother and every professor who had accused me of telling false tales against my horrible classmates. "I _died_ because of her! She doesn't deserve a moment of privacy or a restful night of sleep!"

An elegantly plucked eyebrow winged upward. "You died because she made fun of your glasses?"

"Yes!" My tortured thoughts returned to that fateful day. "It was her fault that I was sitting on the toilet, crying, when . . . when . . . ." There was a boy, and I didn't remember much else, but I was sure it was traumatic.

"Your death was most unfortunate," Miss Atwell said. "My condolences."

"Thank you," I said in a small voice. I was used to people being ugly and mean to me for haunting Olive. No one had ever given me their sympathy.

"But you do know why Miss Hornby made fun of your glasses, don't you?" When I refused to answer, Miss Atwell said, "That's why you made a scene at her brother's wedding."

I bounced off the walls in anger. "The priest asked if anyone had any objections!" I spat. "I objected that he was a gormless worm who asked his sister to make fun of me so I would shove off and not follow him around anymore! I objected that he was alive and getting married while I was dead!"

"The Hornby family will never forget you."

A laugh spilled out of me. Mother would have called it an ugly laugh. "I'll make sure of it."

"No, my dear, you won't." Miss Atwell unsnapped her briefcase. "The Ministry has approved Miss Hornby's petition for your relocation."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You are banned from haunting Olive Hornby and her family members in perpetuity."

"In perp—"

"Until the end of time."

"That's not fair!" I tried to stomp my foot but it sank through the floor. "I'm a ghost because of them."

"Not according to your file."

I stared at the manila folder in Miss Atwell's hand. "I have a file?"

"Of course. You're a ghost of considerable notoriety."

"I'm . . . famous?" Before I'd received my letter to Hogwarts, before mother said only thin, pretty girls were film stars, I had dreamt of seeing my name in lights.

"Yes, you've created quite a stir in the Spirit Division." Miss Atwell tapped the file. "The Minister for Magic himself wants this case resolved quickly."

"Minister Spencer-Moon?" It was too much. I burst into sobs. I wasn't an invisible little nobody anymore! Important people knew my name!

"None other, and Headmaster Dippet extends his personal invitation for you to return to Hogwarts."

If I had been capable of tears, they would have instantly dried. "Return to the school where I was taunted and wanted to kill myself long before someone did it for me?"

"Precisely. You have an eternity's worth of unresolved issues to work through."

"I won't go!" I shot through the wall to the outer corridor, but thanks to my preternatural hearing, Miss Atwell's reply that I'd go one place or the other was audible and impossible to ignore. I returned to ask, "What did you mean by _the other_?"

Miss Atwell removed a large photograph from the file. "Odd the way Muggle photos don't move, but this one doesn't need to, does it? The film star has such deep, dark eyes."

He did. He really, really did. "Mother stole that from me!"

"You were a member of the Cary Grant fan club, weren't you?"

I sighed from the depths of my being. "It was a promotional photo for his film _Suspicion_. I wrote him dozens of letters until he sent it to me."

"You're drawn to it. Emotionally tied to it."

I had kissed that photograph countless times.

"If I take this photograph to your mother's house, you'll follow."

A whimper escaped me. "I don't want to go there. Mother can't see me or hear me. She's Muggle!"

"You'll be able to hear her talk about you, though, and you can try and make your presence known by rattling door handles or the occasional pipes." Miss Atwell dropped the photograph and file into her briefcase and clicked the latches shut. "Or you can voluntarily relocate to Hogwarts and start working on those unresolved issues."

"What issues?"

"Boys, for one," Miss Atwell said. "You never got to satisfy your curiosity about them. What makes them so fascinating? What do they look like naked?" She rose gracefully from the chair. "You'll have an eternity to find out. Goodbye, Myrtle."

"Are you leaving? How do I get to Hogwarts?" The room was growing blurry as though I'd taken off my glasses. Distantly, I heard Miss Atwell tell me to think of the place I'd always wanted to see.

And then I was there: The Prefects' Bathroom. A boy floated in the tub.

There were no bubbles.

I giggled.

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A/N: This story was inspired by a challenge to write a one shot from a ghost's perspective and percocet (I had surgery a couple of days ago). For readers who also follow The Green Knight Rises, I'll update next week when I'm off pain pills, heh, but I hope all readers enjoyed this story, and, yes, Miss Atwell looks a lot like Agent Carter. :D

ETA 10/24: I somehow missed that the story was supposed to be first person pov (I blame the pills!), so I rewrote it and hope anyone rereading it likes the change too!


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